


trust fall (bare your soul)

by morthael



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Body Worship, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Clothed Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, M/M, Mild D/s vibes, Overstimulation, Post-Episode: s02e08 The Blade of Marmora, Praise Kink, This is a very soft fic, Top Shiro (Voltron), brief inappropriate use of Shiro's vibrating arm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:53:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27838651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morthael/pseuds/morthael
Summary: Shiro talks into the quiet. “I would never say the things that hologram said to you,” he says. “If that blade was important to you, I’d never make you give it up.”He sets aside the last piece of armour and reaches for the back of Keith’s collar, thumbs dipping into the grooves of his spine as he tugs the clasp down. “I’d never abandon you like that,” Shiro whispers, pulling Keith in close.Both Keith’s greatest hopes and fears have always been about Shiro.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 53
Kudos: 264





	trust fall (bare your soul)

**Author's Note:**

> jesus take the wheel

Keith’s not sure what pulls him from his haze first – the cool of the shadow falling across him, or the pain that lances through his shoulder with every shallow breath that pulls from his aching lungs.

He blinks blearily up at the shadow – and Shiro falls to his knees next to him.

The hand on his unhurt shoulder is expected, but the way that it lifts and cards through his sweaty hair, slips around the back to cradle his head from the hard metal floor is – different. Keith’s eyes open fully, meeting Shiro’s gaze and then widening, darting away almost immediately. He can’t take the impossible gentleness in his eyes.

“Hey, Keith,” Shiro says, hushed, and even looking away, the proud smile he’s wearing is a sunbeam against the side of his face. His heart kicks up again; he soaks in Shiro’s low voice like he’s parched for it. “You did so well. Kolivan told me you lasted longer than anyone ever has in those battles.”

Shiro’s other hand – the metal one – touches his cheek softly. He’s leaning over Keith, arms caging his head, and Keith forgets to breathe when Shiro moves even closer, their foreheads touching, the silver of Shiro’s hair tickling against Keith’s skin. He’s never felt the texture of Shiro’s hair before.

“But more importantly,” Shiro murmurs, his breath ghosting against Keith’s upper lip, “I nearly lost you, Keith. All for that knife of yours. And I realised I couldn’t – I couldn’t let you go a moment longer without telling you.”

Keith’s voice is a dry rasp through his throat. He has to swallow a few times before the words sound. “Tell me what?”

“Tell me if you want this,” Shiro says, and then surges down, pressing into Keith’s lips with a bruising kiss.

Keith gasps wordlessly into it; Shiro’s lips are firm and unyielding, and when Keith’s mouth falls open in surprise he licks fiercely into it, painting searing, wet heat into him. A startled moan escapes his mouth, and the hand that isn’t stiffly clenched around his blade twitches to – to touch Shiro, to push him away, to drag him closer. His brain’s sending mixed signals to every overwrought nerve in his body.

Shiro pulls away wetly to breathe, and Keith heaves in gulps of air, each one flaring pain through his shoulder.

“W-wait, Shiro,” he says into the pause. His brain’s still in a muddle, his body battered and bruised. Shiro’s leaning over him looking _hungry_ , and he swings a leg over Keith while he’s still catching his breath. He crashes down again, licking a hot stripe at Keith’s throat and sucking hard.

Keith lets out a pained moan at the sensation, his hips twitching upwards unconsciously, then pulls himself down with a confused whimper.

Shiro’s touching him – and kissing him – and part of him is on fire at the feeling, the part that’s helplessly yearned for Shiro’s soothing touch and his calming words for years and years. But there’s another part of his mind that whirls with bewilderment, overwhelmed and dazed at the weight of Shiro on top of him, pressing hard against his chest, mapping out his body underneath the skin-tight suit with huge, rough fingers, heedless of catching on the scratches and bruises that pepper Keith’s skin. It’s a crescendo of pain-pain-pleasure, and Keith thrashes weakly underneath Shiro.

“Shiro – stop, we should talk about this,” he pants as Shiro sucks another bruise into his neck. “We need to – _ahhh –_ ”

Shiro’s metal palm grinds into his cock. Trapped between the friction of the suit and Shiro’s hand, Keith bites his lip to cut off his moan, eyes rolling up in pleasure.

“That’s right,” Shiro whispers, “Be good for me, Keith, let it out.”

Keith doesn’t know if it’s the Galra technology or his rapidly overheating mind, but Shiro’s hand is like a brand over his cock, palming him through the suit. He chokes back another cry as Shiro speeds up, rubbing him harder and faster but still just shy of the pace Keith needs.

“Be good,” Shiro growls into his ear, and Keith shudders, the dam of his remaining shreds of coherency breaking.

“Shiro,” he cries out, jerking his hips upwards. Shiro’s other hand pins them down a second later. “Please, please, faster – ”

He can’t stop making sounds, breathless little noises with each stroke of Shiro’s palm on him. “Please _,_ ” he whines, “ _Please_ ,” – and then Shiro’s arm buzzes to life, engulfing Keith’s cock in a flood of heat and _vibrating_ all around him.

Keith moans as he starts to come, a broken, gasping sound as Shiro’s hand draws pulse after pulse from him. He shivers in the aftershocks of it, the vibrations ceasing but Shiro’s fingers still tracing the imprint of his cock, teasing another oversensitive whimper from him.

“Shiro,” Keith rasps out once his body’s settled. He winces at the lukewarm slick on his stomach beneath the suit. He’s dizzy with fatigue again but he – they need to talk about this. He struggles to rise, and Shiro catches his hand, pulling him forward with a tug that sends pain slicing through his shoulder.

“There you go…you don’t have to keep this up anymore,” Shiro says from above him, letting go to stroke his cheek. Keith leans into the touch automatically before the words register.

“What…what are you talking about?”

“Just give them the knife and let’s get out of here,” Shiro says. He gestures towards the blade, still clamped in his curled fist. Keith doesn’t know if he could force his fingers to let go if he wanted to.

He swallows, feeling cold. “I can’t, Shiro,” he says, voice pleading. “It’s the only connection I have to my past – it’s my only chance to learn who I really am.”

Shiro scoffs. He rolls off Keith and onto his knees; the absence of his weight and heat sends chills over Keith’s skin. He follows, pushing himself up on shaky arms. “You know exactly who you are, Keith. A Paladin of Voltron. We’re all the family you need.”

Keith feels the burn of something behind his eyes and a tide of sickness in his throat. “I have to do this,” he says weakly.

Shiro’s face takes on an ugly expression – it’s something Keith’s never seen before. His heart twists at the look, directed at him. “Give them the knife, Keith,” Shiro says with gritted teeth.

Keith steels himself, heart and mind. Given his heart’s practically tearing itself in two anyway, he still tries his best. “I can’t,” he whispers.

Shiro’s expression is just as bad as the next words that come out of his mouth. “You’re only thinking of yourself, as usual!” he snaps. Keith flinches back like he’s physically been struck. “Why did I ever think you were worth the effort of vouching for you?”

“I’ve made my choice,” Keith says, in a voice that’s steadier than his roiling stomach.

“Then you’ve chosen to be alone.”

Shiro rises swiftly and turns his back, striding away. Keith’s resolve lasts approximately two seconds more before he also staggers onto his feet. The blade is his past, but Shiro – there’s no future that he wants to live in without Shiro.

“Wait – Shiro – !” Keith cries out – but another wave of nausea crashes over him, and he tumbles to his knees.

His head spins with dizziness and regret.

The darkness takes him again.

*

Shiro’s mouth is so dry that the walls of his throat stick to each other as he tries to swallow – but he can’t tear his eyes away from the viewscreen, from Keith crumpled on the hard ground. The earlier heat of mortification has simmered into a hopeless fury as Keith lies defeated, the chest piece of his suit expanding and contracting with each shallow, pained breath.

A dull roar and the sound of Red’s laser searing into the base rocks the room that they’re in, and Shiro tears out of the two Blades’ grips with a snarl, shoving past them and racing to the door.

He flies down the hallways, legs pumping fast with the adrenaline, the sounds of Galra footsteps doggedly close behind.

Keith’s still sprawled out on the ground when Shiro reaches him, his eyes coming into focus when Shiro stands over him. There’s uncertainty, fear, swimming there, and Shiro could curse his hologram self a thousand ways for making Keith question his standing with Shiro – but he doesn’t do that.

He loops his arms around Keith’s waist instead, letting him balance his arms across Shiro’s shoulders, and tugs him up gently. “Come on, Keith, let’s get out of here,” he says, pitching his voice low to soothe.

The Blades finally catch up, and from there, Shiro’s tight grip on his emotions shakes loose.

He remembers clashing hard with one of the Blades as he lunges for Keith, the urge to defend and protect coursing fluid purple fire into his arm. He remembers Keith shouting at him to stop, holding up his blade in surrender. He sees the flash of light as metal sings and expands, the slack look of awe from the gathered Blades, piercing even through their masks. And the muted look of devastation upon Keith’s face as he realises what the awakening of the blade means.

The Blades allow them access to a recuperation room before they’re set to depart for the Castle; it’s a small space with a separately attached bathroom. Shiro helps Keith there, uninjured arm slung across his shoulder.

Keith doesn’t say anything the entire way, his lips pressed so hard they form a thin white line on his face, and his gaze firmly rooted to the ground, away from Shiro.

“It was a hologram,” Shiro says quietly as they reach the threshold of the bathroom. “Kolivan said those suits are able to create a virtual mindscape. Something that lets the wearer see their greatest hopes and fears.”

Shiro didn’t know it was possible, but Keith seems to shrink in on himself even further.

“Right,” he says hoarsely. “Cause I wanted – I wanted to – ” He can’t seem to finish the sentence. 

Shiro feels himself flush, and he hates himself for the way he glances down at Keith’s throat. It’s bare, unmarked, of course; there was nothing real to it, even if it looked and felt it.

Keith slips his arm off Shiro’s shoulder, shuffling towards the bathroom. He still can’t seem to meet Shiro’s eyes. “I’d like to shower now,” he mumbles, and palms the door control.

*

When they reach the Castle of Lions, Keith’s in his paladin armour again, but a quick shower is hardly able to heal the scratches across his face, or his limp, or the way he’s clearly favouring his left side. He’s barely said a word to Shiro on the way back, though his ears burn red every time he catches Shiro’s eyes on him.

The entire time Kolivan is briefing them, Shiro can’t stop looking, attentive to how Keith slumps further and further before pulling himself upright again, how he’s just barely trembling with exhaustion. He makes his way to Keith the second time he unconsciously droops, pressing firmly against his side in unspoken support, and Keith freezes at first, but then fatigue overtakes whatever reservations he has about the contact; he folds into Shiro, leaning heavily against him.

When the briefing is over and the team disperses, Keith struggles back onto his feet. He’s about five steps down the hallway when Shiro stops him.

“Keith,” he says. “Where are you going?”

Keith swallows. “The – the healing pods,” he says. He’s always been a terrible liar; he’s too honest for it.

“The healing pods are in the other direction,” Shiro remarks dryly. “You can just say you’re running away from the conversation we’re about to have.” 

He starts forward, and Keith stumbles a step back. “You can’t make me stay,” he says, “I’m not – you’re not my commanding officer.” He doesn’t move, though, as Shiro comes closer, until he’s close enough that he could reach out, touch him if he really wanted to.

And he does, so much. It’s enough for the next words to slip out of his mouth, only half intended.

“Don’t you want to be good for me?”

There’s a tiny hitch of breath, and then, in a voice barely audible over the hum of the Castle’s engines, like he’s ashamed of the truth the words carry, Keith whispers, “I always want to be good for you.”

*

Shiro leads them to his room; Keith’s not enamoured with the thought of entering an Altean healing pod, so his own supplies will have to do.

“Sit down,” he instructs as he roots around in a cupboard, and Keith goes to the edge of his bed. He’s so tense, ears burning red, rigidly perched there with a spine stiff with dread.

Shiro finds the Altean first aid kit and carries it over to the bed.

“I’m going to get you out of this armour,” Shiro says, and Keith nods sharply, looking away.

He’s silent as Shiro unclasps each segment of armour, save the small intakes of breath he makes when Shiro jostles him, despite his best efforts, or presses against something too hard.

Shiro talks into the quiet. “I would never say the things that hologram said to you,” he says. “If that blade was important to you, I’d never make you give it up.”

He sets aside the last piece of armour and reaches for the back of Keith’s collar, thumbs dipping into the grooves of his spine as he tugs the clasp down. “I’d never abandon you like that,” Shiro whispers, pulling Keith in close.

Keith makes a soft noise, of protest or relief, Shiro doesn’t know.

“Back in that room, you almost gave up,” he continues, quietly. The black of the suit steadily falls further open, Shiro’s hand gliding further down his back. “I’ve never seen you back down from something once you set your mind on it. But you did back there. Why?”

Keith’s chest is bare, the suit pooling in his lap. His expression looks wild, his eyes bright and bruises a mottled patchwork across his skin.

“Isn’t it obvious,” Keith says roughly, a little desperately. “You should already know the answer to that.”

Shiro hums, draws away briefly to rummage through the first aid kit. He comes back with a roll of tape; the Altean equivalent of a bandage. He unwinds it slowly, cutting it off once it’s long enough, and then moves closer, telegraphing his movements as he brings the strip to Keith’s shoulder. The underside of the bandage is lined with a healing gel, and Keith breathes out shakily as Shiro wraps it over the tender gash.

“You should just stop,” Keith continues as soon as he’s caught his breath, “You’re not – you don’t have to do this.”

This is Keith’s defence mechanism, Shiro thinks as he goes back to the box, this time coming back with a jar of healing salve. He doesn’t know how to ask for nice things, can hardly accept them when they do happen. And then, he’ll go out of his way to ruin them for himself, like he’s proving some kind of point to himself.

Shiro wants to prove him wrong.

“Why don’t I have to?” he says.

Keith makes a frustrated sound from the back of his throat; he’s like a trapped animal with Shiro caging him in. “You _know_ ,” he hisses out, pleading. “That I – I feel that way, about you, you don’t have to try to care so hard, you’re always doing things for me – we don’t need to talk about this anymore. I can, I can control it. You don’t need to worry about it.”

Shiro dips his metal fingers delicately into the ointment, reaching out and then touching them to Keith’s skin. Keith’s breath catches, his face twisting with longing.

“But I want to,” Shiro says softly. “I want to worry about you. I want to do this for you.”

He tends to each blooming bruise, each scratch with all the gentleness he can project through his fingers; he massages the discolouration of Keith’s skin with the salve and wraps and dresses his wounds. With every touch, Keith shivers a little, tight muscles clenching, the tension between his scrunched eyebrows etched in a hard line.

“I want…” Shiro breathes, letting his head fall forward, touching his forehead to Keith’s, “To take care of you…”

Keith’s eyes have fallen half-closed, his breath stilling like he’s afraid to break this quiet moment they’re sharing. But Shiro knows there’s nothing to break, and he presses his forehead insistently forward until Keith tips back. Shiro’s there to catch him, lowering him until they’re lying down on the bed together. His hand comes up, the whorls of his fingertips skimming against Keith’s cheek, and then curving back, combing through the tangle of Keith’s hair. 

“I’m Galra,” Keith chokes out, flinging out his last line of defence, “I’m – everything you should hate, everything you’ve been fighting against – ”

“You’re still you,” Shiro says, patiently threading both hands through Keith’s hair now. Keith’s eyes flutter closed and he clamps his mouth shut, but it can’t stop the bitten off whine in the back of his throat.

“And I could never hate you, Keith. The real me, not the hologram.”

He breathes like that, fingers stroking through Keith’s hair, working through the kinks. “The real me thinks…”

With a whoosh of butterflies, Shiro leans in the last bit of distance, touching his lips to Keith’s mouth. Just a chaste touch.

Keith’s eyes fly open. “Sh – ”

“The real me thinks that you’re strong – ” he kisses Keith’s cheek, “ – you’re beautiful – ” his jaw, “ – and the real me is so, so proud of what you achieved today.”

He rises back up to look at Keith, and Keith’s – he’s red all the way down to his shoulders, blush darkening when Shiro ducks down to kiss his nose; his eyes bright and face slack with awe.

“ _Shiro_ ,” Keith croaks out, “You’re – ”

“I want to show you exactly what you mean to me,” Shiro says, smiling crookedly, and then dips downwards, his hands stroking over Keith’s body, his mouth working deft but gentle kisses into Keith’s skin.

Keith cries out quietly, the sound breaking over Shiro like a cresting wave. He grows addicted to the feelings of Keith under his fingertips, his skin blazing hot against his mouth. He works his way lower, a teasing lick to the navel sending Keith arching upwards with a breathless shout.

“Sorry,” Keith says, and he’s got his arms up, lowering them from where he’s covering his face.

Shiro keeps eye contact as he purposefully lays a kiss onto Keith’s stomach.

“ _Shiro_.” His voice is a delicious rasp, catching and breaking on the second syllable.

Shiro’s hands catch around the fabric pooling at Keith’s waist. “I want to take this off,” he says, low and inviting, but not a demand. He looks up, to where Keith is staring back, wonder in his eyes. He doesn’t want to get this wrong; he needs Keith to come to him, to trust him. “Can I?”

Keith bites his lip. “Please,” he says.

He’s half hard already as Shiro tugs the undersuit the rest of the way off, wetness beading at the tip.

Shiro kneels down, gathering more ointment on his fingertips and swirling them onto Keith’s legs; he dresses the sluggishly bleeding cut on his knee and patches the darkly discoloured bruise on his shin. He then lays kisses to each, light touches that spark new sounds from Keith.

“Kiss me,” Keith demands, his voice steady but his wide eyes betraying the panic of the boldness of his words.

Shiro grins, teasing his fingers up Keith’s leg. “I am,” he says, silly with affection, but surges upwards anyway, slotting his mouth against Keith’s, his tongue curling out and slipping past Keith’s parted lips.

His hand wanders downwards, curling around Keith’s cock, and Keith groans, the vibration of it shuddering into Shiro’s mouth.

Shiro pumps him slowly, patiently, working with the shifting of Keith’s body as he twists and turns underneath him. Keith can’t seem to stop moving, rocking into Shiro’s hand, breaking apart from the kiss to toss his head back.

“God, baby, you look so hot right now,” Shiro groans, and Keith shudders in his hands, more wetness blurting from his cock and joining the mess on his stomach.

Seeing Keith like this, writhing beneath him, is too much for his body; Shiro muffles a moan into Keith’s neck, grinding himself into the mattress.

Keith, ever attuned to Shiro, catches onto the movement immediately.

“You – you can,” he says breathlessly. His legs slide open. “You’ve already done – I mean, the other you – you don’t need to take care of me, you can just – ”

“I’m taking care of you,” Shiro says, “That hologram doesn’t count.”

Keith squeezes his eyes shut. “I think I’d like it,” he says, so soft Shiro has to strain to hear. “I want you to – to fuck me.”

Shiro considers himself strong, but he nearly comes undone at Keith’s words; he shudders, lurching onto his elbows.

“You’ve never done this before,” Shiro says, certainty in his voice.

“I want to,” Keith says immediately, “I’ve always wanted to, with you…” He trails off, suddenly uncertain. Spread out across Shiro’s sheets naked, he looks vulnerable, his defences gone, nothing but himself laid open and bare and revealed. “I guess you know that now.”

Keith’s laid himself out, let himself be examined and judged and opened himself up to hurt; it’s the least Shiro can do to meet him halfway.

“I love you,” Shiro tells him, and he lets Keith’s eyes go wide for a second before surging up for another kiss. This time, there’s a tiny hesitation, then Keith’s kissing him back with fervour, his tongue sloppy and untrained but more than making up for it with enthusiasm.

“God, Shiro,” Keith breathes as they break apart, “Fuck me. Please.”

Shiro huffs a disbelieving laugh. “I’ll hurt you,” he says. “You’re still hurt.” God. Even so, Keith’s earnest words are going straight to his dick.

Keith shakes his head. “I can take it,” he argues, “Shiro, _come on_. I can.”

“Okay,” Shiro finds himself saying, “Okay. Just. Let’s go slow, alright?” He can’t find it in him to refuse him.

Keith drops his head back onto the bed. “I trust you,” he murmurs, and that – that gets Shiro right in the chest. He fumbles with the jar of ointment, gathering it in his fingers, and then he’s reaching down between Keith’s legs.

“Relax,” Shiro breathes, tracing the rim with a slick finger, and then pressing in. He hums encouragingly as Keith tenses around the intrusion, then visibly slackens, each of his limbs going boneless. “That’s right, you’re doing so well for me, Keith,” he says. Keith shivers. “Good boy.”

Keith moans, and then moans again in embarrassment, hands covering his face.

“Do you like being called that, baby?” Shiro whispers, gathering a little pace with his finger, his other hand wrapping back around Keith’s leaking cock and stroking languidly. Keith whimpers through the fingers covering his face.

“Because you are,” Shiro continues, his own arousal forgotten as he works another finger into Keith, who clenches and bucks underneath him, shuddering. “You’re perfect just like this. Just the way you are.”

“ _Sh – i – iro_ ,” Keith pants, arching up into his touch. In response, Shiro leans down, licks a stripe across his chest before closing around a nipple. Keith cries out, his body jerking.

“God, you’re so sensitive, baby,” Shiro murmurs in amazement. Keith groans out something intelligible, fingers clamped tight over his eyes.

“Do you want me to stop talking?”

Slowly, Keith drags his hands away. “No,” he says, red creeping through his cheeks again at the admission, then again, softer: “No.” 

Shiro finds himself proud of the confession; Keith drinks in praise and in the same heartbeat he shies away from it – that he puts down his walls enough to let Shiro in warms him to the core.

Satisfied, Shiro returns his attention to Keith’s nipple, now hard and peaked, laving and suckling over it like a man parched for water. His fingers, now three of them, thrusting in and out of Keith’s tight heat, drive faster.

The moans spill from Keith’s lips like sweet nectar, louder and louder; then, without warning, they stutter away.

“W-wait,” Keith says. “What are you doing?”

Shiro pauses, confused. “I’m – preparing – ”

“I swear to god if you make me come and don’t fuck me,” Keith says petulantly, and Shiro almost chokes on a laugh.

“If you’re good I’ll give it to you,” Shiro says, and he’s only half-teasing but Keith shuts up _so fast_ , gazing at him eyes wide, that Shiro’s suddenly breathless with want.

He withdraws his fingers, slathering himself in the Altean salve before pressing the tip to Keith’s entrance. Keith’s gone quiet beneath him, and when Shiro hesitates, he breathes out a quiet, “ _Please_.”

Shiro presses in, letting out a tiny, helpless moan at the immediate heat trapping him tight. From there, it’s a single smooth, electric slide, Shiro burying himself in increments until he bumps against the back of Keith’s legs, fully seated inside. Keith takes him so well, breathing hard but his cock’s so hard, weeping onto his stomach.

“Keith, fuck, you feel so good,” he moans, rolling his hips in a tiny motion that makes Keith’s eyes roll wildly in his head. He hikes Keith’s legs up onto his shoulders, his thighs leaving the bed, and thrusts shallowly again.

As Shiro starts moving faster, Keith’s face twists into pleasure; it’s uninhibited, heady, unmarred by the fear and uncertainty of before. A thrust at the right angle draws a punched out moan from Keith’s throat, and then to Shiro’s shock, when Keith opens his eyes again, they’re pulsing yellow, burnt gold sliding across the sclera and pupils elongating into slits.

“ _Keith_ , you’re – ” he cuts himself off, not wanting to draw attention to it, but Keith’s noticed it anyway, looking at shaking arms tapering into thin, strong hands, narrowing into wickedly sharp claws.

“I’m…” Keith’s breath hitches. “I’m – ”

“ _Beautiful_ ,” Shiro growls, splaying his hands across Keith’s body, driving relentlessly into him at that same sharp angle. Keith moans helplessly, overwhelmed, and shakes apart in Shiro’s hold, arching halfway off the bed as he comes untouched.

Shiro thrusts into him through his orgasm, eking out every last pulse from him, only slowing when Keith starts squirming in his grasp.

“God, how are you so perfect,” Shiro breathes, and makes to pull out, panting at the decadent drag against his cock.

“No, no, no,” Keith says, voice slurred and fucked out but still lucid enough to clamp his legs shut around Shiro’s body, dragging him back in. “Where’re you going…you haven’t…come yet…”

Shiro shakes his head, running his hands through Keith’s hair again. “Baby, you’ll be too sensitive,” he says, “This is all about you, I don’t need it right now.”

“I can,” Keith gasps, his legs still iron bands looped around Shiro’s waist. “I can take it, Shiro – I want you to, _please_ ,” and he clenches hard around Shiro’s cock, so hard Shiro almost blanks out from the pressure.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Shiro whispers. Keith’s going to be the ruin of him. “Are you sure?”

Keith twists in the sheets, his fingers twitching towards Shiro and then pulling back, tearing through the covers with sharp, sharp claws. “I’m ready,” he almost sobs, and Shiro can’t, he can’t let this self-destructive spiral continue down.

He nudges Keith’s legs apart gently, making room to melt down to Keith chest to chest, hands skimming past his wrists and then capturing his palms, sliding over knuckles and clasping him tight.

Holding Keith’s hands, Shiro starts moving again, his arousal undimmed but content with rocking into him gently, unhurried and quiet thrusts. Even those seem like almost too much for Keith. Shiro’s entranced by the bitten-off sighs that fall from Keith’s lips, tiny overstimulated sounds as Shiro rolls his hips in a slow rhythm.

And even like this, Shiro’s cresting towards his edge; the sight of Keith sprawled beneath him, the heave of his chest and flex of his taut muscles, the hot puff of his breath against Shiro’s ear with each shaky exhale, the sensations are all mixed up and tangled in a swell of love from Shiro’s chest. 

“So good,” he whispers, and Keith turns his face to the side, flushing, his hands trapped beneath Shiro’s. “So beautiful.”

Soft praise falls from Shiro’s lips easy as pouring water; with each loving phrase Keith grows progressively more mortified, groaning and with his hands trapped, pressing his head ineffectively into the mattress. Shiro goes with him, pressing kisses into the exposed skin of his neck, and the change of angle brings a strangled moan clawing out of Keith’s throat.

Somewhere in between Shiro’s soft murmuring and sweet kisses, Keith’s gotten hard again, legs wrapped around Shiro’s waist trembling. Shiro drinks him in, all sharp claws and teeth and face a sheen of red that barely tints purple in the lighting; and – suddenly Shiro’s aware that Keith doesn’t break, he doesn’t give in to anyone or for anything, but he’d deliver himself wholly up for Shiro, every flaw and vulnerable spot opened up to him. His trust is written in the squeezed-shut of his eyes, the breathless chant of _Shiro_ on his tongue, the laxness of his wrists and hands curled so delicately in Shiro’s grasp.

“ _Keith,_ ” Shiro groans out, his rhythm stuttering, “I’m – I’m going to – ”

“ _In me_ ,” Keith says, voice flayed hoarse, and Shiro buries his face in his neck with a groan, his hand pulling off Keith’s to wrap back around his cock. Keith clenches around him once and then Shiro’s gone, every single nerve sparking to life as his release crashes over him. The first pulse of his cock brings Keith undone; he arches into Shiro with a wordless gasp, too breathless for sound or words, his hole squeezing tight around Shiro with each splash of his release.

They come for a long time together, voices curling into each other, falling into that gauzy, loose-limbed place as the waves of pleasure give way to heavy bliss.

Shiro lays himself down carefully next to Keith, still deep inside him. He should probably ease himself out, but he can’t find the strength to, instead looking deeply adoringly at Keith as he releases his hands, brushes errant locks of dark hair from his eyes. Keith’s gaze is dreamy, locked somewhere below meeting Shiro’s eyes.

“Good?” Shiro asks softly.

Keith starts, his eyes flying upwards. “I – yeah,” he fumbles, his eyes darting away. His blush darkens, and Shiro huffs. Keith’s shy about so few things it should almost come as a surprise; but Shiro’s not. Intimacy has always been his reservation.

“Um – about what you said,” Keith says. His gaze is now fixed downwards, at the join of their bodies, and his cheeks are blazing, but he makes no move to remove himself.

“Hmm?”

Keith licks his lips. “I – I love you too, you know,” he mumbles, like it’s some great secret.

Shiro’s heart swells anyway. “Give me every day to let me treat you right,” he says in return, the fingers teasing at the ends of Keith’s hair returning to his face, tracing reverent circles into his skin. “Let me show you how I feel.”

Keith lifts himself up, easing himself off with a shuddering sigh, but then he’s crawling towards Shiro, climbing on top of him. Shiro’s hands automatically come up, hooking around his slender waist, supporting him so there’s no pressure on his shoulder.

“Can I,” he says, eyes flicking to Shiro’s lips. It’s a question, but Keith doesn’t need the permission. He never has.

“You don’t have to ask for anything,” Shiro tells him quietly. “I’m yours already.”

The fit of their bodies isn’t perfect; there’s the jut of Keith’s hips, and Shiro’s worried about their contact digging into Keith’s bruises.

But when Keith leans down, Shiro’s thoughts melt away; his hands sweeps through Keith’s hair, and the touch of Keith’s chapped lips on his is the softest thing he’s ever known.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://morthael.tumblr.com/) / [twitter](https://twitter.com/anuveon)
> 
> just some [tender sheith art](https://twitter.com/anuveon/status/1335404116613373954) for this fic here


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